


Under the Sun

by Talullah



Category: Ancient Egyptian Religion
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-19
Updated: 2008-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:43:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1637129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bast receives a visit from her son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Karin (hangingfire) for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Written for , for who requested Egyptian Mythology - Bastet. "I've always liked Bast, a lot. I'm good with whatever you want to give me. Although I'd like to see her interacting with her father, or one of her sons. Possibly toss in the fact that the Greeks compared her to Artemis, and I'd like to get her view on that. Doesn't matter about the rating, or whatever other deities you want to throw in."
> 
> I consulted several sources for information and inspiration but in the end the one I lay more heavily upon was [this Bast page](http://www.crystalinks.com/bast.html).
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

_When the people are on their way to Bubastis, they go by river, a great number in every boat, men and women together. Some of the women make a noise with rattles, others play flutes all the way, while the rest of the women, and the men, sing and clap their hands. As they travel by river to Bubastis, whenever they come near any other town they bring their boat near the bank; then some of the women do as I have said, while some shout mockery of the women of the town; others dance, and others stand up and lift their skirts. They do this whenever they come alongside any riverside town. But when they have reached Bubastis, they make a festival with great sacrifices, and more wine is drunk at this feast than in the whole year besides. It is customary for men and women (but not children) to assemble there to the number of seven hundred thousand, as the people of the place say._ \-- Herodotus, _Histories_ , Book II Chapter 60

Mihos negotiates his way through the crowd with impatience: he wants to reach the temple before sunrise to share with his mother the moment when the first light touches the stones. God or no, luck is not with him. The irritation that has been building for a day has lodged itself between his shoulder blades. He feels it there, a stone-heavy, dark ball of aggravation. 

"Hey, gorgeous! Why the long face?" a woman calls out to him from a balcony. Mihos doesn't look up to appreciate the flashing leg or to the side when a group of maidens giggles at him. 

Have these people stayed awake all night long in revelry or have they just woken up to celebrate the second sunrise of the annual festival of Bast? Mihos suspects it is the former rather than the latter when he hears the slurred singing, the malicious comments, sees the dark circles and dishevelled clothes. He will laugh it off later on, he is sure. His mother's love for these festivities is contagious and by tomorrow he will be thinking that it all ends too soon. Right now, though, every boat on the river, every dancer on the streets, every passed-out body is an obstacle.

* * *

He missed it. When Mihos finally reaches the temple, he is in time to see the red granite warming under the orange light of early morning. He missed the sunrise with his mother. Muttering a curse, he stays himself and gazes at the scenery. This is home, familiar, comforting, and oh so painfully beautiful. His mother's temple glows with the generous warmth Mihos knows he'll find inside. As children, he and Mahes always watched the sunrise with Mother on the highest terrace. It was then that she would pamper them the most, laugh the loudest, tell the old stories, make plans for the day. And what days those were...

Mihos walks closer to the temple, keeping his mask in his hands. It is still too soon to wear it and reveal himself - too many mortals around him, ready to fall into paroxysms of fear and adoration at his presence. He can do without the fawning. When he reaches the main gate, he joins again the river of the crowd and lets them carry him inside. The sun is barely above the horizon but it is already scorching hot, just like he likes it, except that the perfumes and body odours of a crowd of thousands smell quite differently from the lonely sands of his desert home. He used to love the festival before, when it represented more than a blind escape into debauchery; now, it makes him want to run.

Upon glimpsing the familiar side door, Mihos quickly dons his mask and pulls his sistrum from his bag. A few heads turn, enough to draw the attention of others and people part, forming an irregular corridor as he moves along. A priestess opens the door and there, he is within the innards of the temple.

* * *

Mihos waits for a long time for his mother. Seen from above, from the highest terrace, Bubastis is not so bad. A few dots of reflected light shine through the blanket of boats in the river. The streets teem with people who look more vigorous and beautiful than the pitiful forms he saw before dawn. Everything speaks of life and this is why he is here. 

"Son!" his mother calls behind him with her deep, velvety voice reverberating against the columns.

Mihos turns, trying to ignore the pang of hurt at her slight disappointment when they both remove their masks. Mahes has always been the favourite.

Not a heartbeat goes by before Bast's smile beams brighter and she walks towards Mihos with open arms. "I am so glad you came," she says embracing him tight as if he was a little boy, still.

Mihos blinks against the sheer joy of the moment. It has been too long since he has been here, too long tucked away in the safety and isolation of the desert. It is good to be home, with her.

"Mother," he greets her softly, trying to find his breath. For an instant he is tempted to let her squirm but it is her day, and nothing should cloud her happiness. He gives her the answer she wants before she even asks the question. "Mahes has been held in Leontopolis. An unusual number of wounded... He will come later, after the festival."

A line of worry divides Bast's forehead for a split second before she nods in acceptance and smiles again. "I am so glad to see _you_!" Bast says, parting from Mihos, but still holding his arms in her hands.

She is repeating herself, both know it and both ignore it. Mihos has found himself doing the same with his sons: it took fatherhood to make him understand how a slight preference for a son does not equate with lack of love for the other; how love more than guilt is behind the overcompensating. He places his hands over his mothers' and squeezes gently. 

"Shall we sit?" he invites. 

Bast leads them to the boiling hot stone seats at the ledge. They could have taken the comfortable pillows and shade of the furniture where the cats laze, but both love the heat. Something soft brushes Mihos' leg; the cat jumps up to his lap with no invitation, greeting him only with a perplexed blink before settling.

"Cats," Mihos observes.

"I've always loved them and protected them," Bast says.

Mihos thinks she sounds a little defensive. "I like you better as a lioness," he says, eyeing the mask, discarded by Bast's feet.

Bast looks over his shoulder, then away to the river. "Those days are gone now."

Watching his mother's mouth quirk with something that's not quite sadness, Mihos suspects that the answers to his questions might be lying just underneath the surface.

"What changed?" he asks, blunt and graceless as he always was.

Still looking away, Bast frowns at the question and shakes her head. "Time. Time is relentless, works on all of us, even you. I am not fierce anymore, but I still have a job to do." She looks defiantly into Mihos' eyes, making him think that the lioness is still there, just under the surface.

"And it's a good and noble job," Bast adds rispidly. Mihos stays silent. His mother was always a talker; he just needs to measure his words and keep his silences and she will do the rest.

Bast gets up to her feet and takes the cat from Mihos' lap to her shoulder. She coos her in low voice, wanders through the terrace, then ambles back to Mihos. The cat is purring so loudly that a few others have woken from their naps.

"How long will you stay?" Bast asks, her voice now honeyed and the hard stare mellowed.

"Not long," Mihos says. He has never been gregarious as his mother or Mahes or any of the others and Bast has never made a secret of her thoughts on the matter. 

Thus, her reply catches Mihos off guard. "Maybe it's better," she simply says. There's no anger there and Mihos feels let down. His mother has quit fighting for him to stay. Unloved, that should be the word for him, except that Bast is touching his cheek with her soft palm, gently caressing him just like when he was a boy.

"Bubastis has grown and it's peaceful and crowded. It's no place for you, my son," she says. He wonders if that's wisdom, resignation or some of that mysterious change she keeps talking about.

"You and Mahes are acting different," Mihos says. "I don't understand any of it."

"Son, you've spent too much time away," Bast gently chides.

"Not so long that you've left the sun for the moon! They are even confusing you with their own pale, useless goddesses! Will you stop being a daughter of Ra, now?" Mihon rises from his seat so suddenly he scares one of the cats. He wants to shake Bast awake, bring forth his mother in all her glorious rage. There is word to be done. He returns from a season in the desert and all he sees are foreigners everywhere, besmirching the air with their vile tongue, and everybody happy, feasting as if nothing were amiss.

"Mihos, son, settle down," Bast asks, holding him in place by the wrist. "You came for war but what we need now is peace and fertility, nothing else. Time flowed like the river, it has swelled, wiped things away, left others standing... the Greek men are here to stay and there is nothing more to it. Let them call me what they want."

"But mother, how can you stand it? The Greeks understand nothing, trample on everything with their ignorant arrogance..." Mihon shakes his fist loose from Bast's pry, unwilling to stand the appeasing touch when he is ready to burst. "Look at them," he says gesturing at the crowd. "Our people are having _fun_! They should be seething, and you should not be condoning this acceptance."

Bast sighs. "Mihos, you seem to forget too much. Egypt was two and then became one. The Greeks are not the first ignoramuses to impinge their arrogance on another."

"It was not like that!" Mihos jumps. Then he stops himself. Well, it wasn't, the unification of Egypt was noble and correct. But... the remembrance of a few harsher episodes deflate his ire.

"Mother..." he starts but he realizes he's lost for words. 

"Mihos, my beloved son..." Bast wraps her arms around him, squeezes him tightly, her arms still lioness strong, but now also cat tender. She kisses his temple. "Everything changes or perishes. Just like that. Do you think it was easy, letting go of the lioness and embracing the cat? It was needed. You have to take care, son. Spend too much time alone in that desert of yours and you'll forget to learn."

Bast turns to abrupt silence and lets go of Mihos. He is vaguely aware of the sun moving in the sky, the people chanting down below, of his own thoughts running like terrified gazelles. 

"Mother," he says at last. An hour has passed, maybe more, but Bast is still there by his side, her skin glistening with sweat and oils under the sun. 

She raises an eyebrow. 

"Did I come all this way for nothing?" Mihos hates how young he sounds.

"You came to see your mother," Bast replies without a blink. "You came to see your people, from whom you should demand less and love more." 

Mihos shakes his head. He still cannot grasp it but it feels so close, what his mother is trying to tell him.

She takes his hand and leads him to the shadow. They sit. A servant brings food. The cats draw closer, wind around their legs, go away in search of places to lie.

Bast smiles at him. "Next time, bring my grandchildren," she says. "And may next time be next year, not next century," she adds, her eyes squinting as if to chide him. 

Mihos shakes his head. "I am not sure I can deal with this..."

"Where's my brave little lion?" Bast taunts, her generous laughter taking away the sting of the implied criticism. "You know, sometimes it takes more bravery to let things flow than to fight to keep them still."

"Mother..."

"I know, son. I know. Just think about it. Promise me?"

Mihos bows his head. He remains unconvinced his mother is right, but he is not certain that he is right either. Could this land have changed so much and still be the same? A wave of drunken laughter from the street seems to say so. But can he still love and protect this new thing? Is he supposed to be tamed, to become a domestic cat like his mother, be renamed, transformed, castrated? Bast runs her cool fingers on his hot forehead. It feels good, but Mihos knows his mother expects an answer from him. 

"I will think about it all, Mother. I promise," he reluctantly says.

"Good." Bast kisses his skin where her fingers were just seconds before. "Good," she repeats. "I am needed below... Will I see you later? Sunrise tomorrow, maybe?"

Unwittingly Mihos smiles. "Yes. Sunrise, tomorrow."

_Finis  
December 2008_


End file.
